


the rogue

by annadavidson



Series: when all i own is dust and gold (a second breakfast club series) [1]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Dungeons & Dragons - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Second Breakfast Club Campaign, band of misfits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-11
Updated: 2017-03-11
Packaged: 2018-10-02 11:09:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10216649
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annadavidson/pseuds/annadavidson
Summary: The silence when he entered the tavern was expected.Prompt: “Fuck, stay down, would you?!"





	

The silence when he entered the tavern was expected. He had that effect on people. It happened as soon as the combination of charcoal skin, hair like snow, and bright crimson eyes were noticed. They didn’t even need to see the pointed ears hidden by his hood. The hostility in the air grew as he strode in and took a seat at the bar. No one said anything, though a few people stared. Others would glance at him and then glance at other patrons as if to see if they were seeing the same thing. When he tried to meet their eyes, some would look away. A rare few would meet his gaze with a hostile one of their own. It was clear he wasn’t welcomed. It was clear that everyone wished he would leave.

And that was why he decided to stay. That and he needed a drink, though he doubted he could get one without the bartender’s spit in it. He tried to make eye contact with the bartender to place an order, but the young man refused to meet his gaze.

Valas shrugged to himself and pulled out a small pack. He shook a gold coin out of the pack before putting it back away, the coin still in his hand. He twisted it between his fingers, making sure it glinted in the light of the fires that lit the candle – he purposefully only traveled at night. His vision wasn’t the best during the day. The coin glittered and caught the bartender’s attention. That was all he needed. He didn’t need the bartender to take the time to decide if money was enough to convince him to serve him. The coin could cover the cost of any drink he wanted so he placed it on the counter and slid it in the direction of the bartender. He then sat forward and reached over the bar to grab a bottle of whiskey.

A hand shot out, fingers wrapping tightly around his wrist. Valas cocked an eyebrow and glanced to the side. It wasn’t the bartender but rather a fellow patron. He was human like the bartender but clearly older. The bartender looked about in his mid-twenties. This man looked more like he was in his late-thirties. He could have looked old or young for his age, Valas thought, but either way he had the advantage of experience. No matter how old a human was, they could never match the lifespan of his race.

“You’d do best to keep your hands to yourself, _drow,”_ the man spoke, hostility lacing his words and etched onto his face.

Valas glanced down at the man’s hand firmly clamped to his wrist. “So you’ll touch me but I can’t touch you?” He grinned up at the man. “Sounds kinky.”

Fury flashed on the man’s face before he twisted Valas’ wrist. The young drow did his best to hold in a gasp at the sudden throb of pain that shot out from his wrist. His grin was gone, eyes warily remaining on the man. He liked making people uncomfortable, but he drew a line when it threatened his own safety.

“If you let go, I can leave,” he tried to reason with the man. There wasn’t any nervousness or worry to his voice. He could handle himself – he just preferred to fight for money rather than survival. After all, money made him happier than surviving did, even if surviving meant he got to spend that money. However he soon learned that snatching the whiskey wasn’t the reason why the man had approached him.

“My brother-in-law was killed earlier tonight,” he explained. Valas opened his mouth to say that sucked – though he thought it would have been nice if someone had killed any of his relatives. Before he could speak, the man continued, “A witness said a figure clad in black attacked him and slit his throat.” The man’s eyes roamed over Valas, who was clothed in black leather and a black cloak.

Valas pursed his lips, aware that he’d left a witness. He only killed those he was hired too, and he hadn’t been hired to kill any innocent witnesses. He’d been paid up front so it hadn’t mattered to him if a witness had got away.

“Perhaps your brother-in-law pissed off the wrong person,” he offered with a nonchalant shrug. He didn’t know why he’d been hired. He hadn’t asked questions. If he asked questions, there was always a chance he wouldn’t be hired. People preferred their assassins to be tight lipped, silent.

The man leaned forward, drawing closer to the rogue. “Are you that person?”

Valas shook his head. “I’ve never met the guy until tonight. He pissed the wrong person off, and the wrong person dropped some coin into my hand.” His usual cocky grin returned. “It’s never personal.”

The next few moments happened in a blur of movement. The man threw him to the ground. Either the man’s brother-in-law was well liked in the town or they just wanted an excuse to beat up a drow because majority of the tavern’s patrons stood up and looked eager for a fight. For once Valas was glad he’d chosen to leave Spite outside. That spoiled rotten spider would have abandoned him in a heartbeat the moment the fight broke out. Still Valas’ cocky grin didn’t waver. He enjoyed the thrill and excitement of a good fight, the feeling of putting someone’s face beneath his boot.

And getting punched or kicked around didn’t do much to waver that thrill. He was used to being beat on.

Valas brought the toe of his boot up under the man’s chin when the man bent over him to start throwing punches. He slammed both feet against the man’s chest and pushed, using all his strength to get him off him. Once the threat of the man no longer hovered over him, he swiftly jumped to his feet. He unclipped his cloak, allowing it to fall to the ground. With it no longer draped around him, the twin daggers sheathed and hanging from his belt were plain to see.

His hands gripped the hilts of the daggers. The tavern’s patrons paused when they noticed the weapons and remembered their own lack of weapons. They were, for the most part, simple townsfolk. There was only one person in the back who was armored in shimmering gold and silver metal with what looked like a sheathed sword at her side. But she looked uninterested in the current events. Instead, she took another gulp from her cup and swallowed before turning her attention to the papers she held in her hands. There was no way she hadn’t noticed the commotion, she just didn’t seem to care.

 _At least she’s not attacking me,_ was all Valas thought about her before his attention turned elsewhere.

A patron came at him with a broken bottle but soon found a dagger in his shoulder. Valas roughly yanked the dagger out and kicked the man in the stomach to get him to stagger back.

 _“Fuck!”_ he heard the man snarl, “Stay down, would you?!”

But he didn’t plan to stay down.

The fighting became like a dance of sorts. He weaved through the patrons, ducking blows and dodging bottles and cups thrown at him. He sliced at skin and cloth, avoiding any fatal marks as much as he could. He was smaller, more nimble than the patrons he fought. He was faster too and _sober._ However he wasn’t invincible or perfect. Even he made mistakes.

It was the usual mistake. He was far too cocky for his own good. He got comfortable in plausible victories, forgetting that they hadn’t yet been won. He got sloppy. He enjoyed the thrill of a fight too much to focus on fully achieving a victory.

A fist caught him in the jaw. He stumbled back, right into someone’s arms. Large, muscled arms wrapped around him from behind, firmly holding him in place. He tried to lash out with his daggers, but the man from earlier, the one who’d lost his brother-in-law, came forward and snatched the weapons away. The man grinned wickedly at him, either driven by adrenaline or alcohol – Valas wasn’t sure which was more likely.

“Now I’ve got your daggers,” the man explained the obvious. Valas raised an unimpressed eyebrow. “And a rogue is nothing without his weapons.”

Valas worked his jaw. It still throbbed, but he didn’t think it was broken or dislocated.

“Technically that’s not true,” he threw back at the man, “But I mean if it helps you sleep at night, by all means, believe in a lie.”

“You used these to kill my brother-in-law, didn’t you?” the man snarled, moving closer, invading the rogue’s personal space. “How about I use them to kill you?” He didn’t look like he had any training with daggers, but he raised both hands, a dagger firmly gripped in each one. Valas flinched as the man brought the daggers down…

The sound of a sword unsheathed cut through the quiet background of the tavern. The man stopped immediately as he found a blade held threateningly in front of him, placed between him and the rogue.

The owner of the blade was a mere three feet and three inches tall. Her long, straight golden blonde hair was tied in a low ponytail. She wore golden armor with silver chainmail. The armor was clean, polished to reflect the faces of the tavern’s patrons. It would be easy to assume she held no training, had never seen a battle, but the way that she held herself and the sword told a story of experience, battles, and bloodbaths. Whoever she was, it was clear that she was possibly the most skilled in the tavern.

She kept the sword leveled on the man, but when she spoke, she directed her words at the one holding Valas without moving her gaze. “Release the drow.”

The man moved to take a step forward. _“Who do you think you are?”_

The sword moved, pressing its tip against the man’s stomach. The man was easily six feet tall, but she stood her ground as if she wore the tallest and biggest person there.

 _“Release the drow,”_ she ordered firmly as if she held any real authority over the patrons, “Or by Pelor, I will _cut you down.”_

The man exchanged a look with the one holding Valas. The next thing the rogue knew, he was released. He dusted his arms off and cast a glare over his shoulder at the one who’d held him. His cloak, which he hadn’t noticed had been picked up by the young woman, was then thrown at him. He caught it and swung it back onto his shoulders, pulling his hood up.

The young woman, a gnome clearly, held her free hand out to the man. “His daggers.”

The man grit his teeth. “He is a _drow_ and a _murderer!_ He is nothing but a blade for hire!”

“Make up your mind,” she said evenly, “Is he a drow and a murderer or is he nothing but a blade for hire? You can’t be _nothing_ but a blade and also be something else. Don’t you know that? Or are you stupid?” Her tone was chastising, superior. She held her head high, meeting the man’s gaze with her calculating brown eyes.

The man’s own eyes flared with anger. “He killed my brother–”

 _“People die!”_ she snapped. “Now hand me those daggers or I will _cut your hands off_ to retrieve them myself.”

The man looked like he wanted to smack that sword out of her hand. Instead he placed the hilts of the daggers into her hand. Without taking her eyes off him, she handed the daggers back to Valas, who sheathed them back to his belt. She remained standing there, sword drawn, for several more minutes before she grabbed Valas by his arm and practically dragged him out of the tavern. Once out of the tavern, he yanked his arm out of his grasp. Spite was there, clearly waiting for him. The black, cat-sized spider scurried up his leg and all the way to perch on his shoulder. The gnome gave the spider one glance before her gaze settled onto him.

“I would like to hire you to kill someone for me,” she stated bluntly.

Valas frowned. “You would?”

She nodded. “I’m putting together a party to hunt someone down and kill them. I’m willing to pay each party member fifty-thousand gold once the job is done.”

At that, his eyebrows shot up. He couldn’t say he wasn’t intrigued. He looked at her, at her shining armor. It was obvious to him that she was experienced in whatever her class was, but her armor looked brand new. He thought she certainly looked like someone who could afford to pay him fifty-thousand gold.

 _“After_ the job is done?”

It was her turn to frown. “I’m not paying you so you can take my money and leave, rogue.”

He gave her a smirk. “Rogue not drow?”

She leveled her gaze with his, brown eyes meeting red. “I don’t give a crap what race you are. Either you’ll accept the offer or you won’t.” She turned on her heels. “Follow me, if you accept.” She started walking, looking quite intent on leaving the town.

Valas glanced at Spite on his shoulder before sighing and calling after her, “I don’t even know who or _what_ you are!”

She didn’t look back at him, but called out, “Zintra Rastor, paladin!”

He grinned and ran after her, deciding that this would be quite the adventure.

**Author's Note:**

> Like/reblog on Tumblr [here](http://magicrobins.tumblr.com/post/158248807400/fuck-stay-down-would-you).


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